Magnesium
by Skriva
Summary: When a dark force emerges to threaten Gotham; Batman must make a difficult choice to put his trust and inevitably, his life, in the unstable hands of his long time nemesis, The Joker. Can the unlikely allies work together or will they destroy one another and the city along with them?
1. Chapter 1

**A.N.**

 **Okay Munchies, I'm back!**

 **I really appreciate all of the amazing support you guys gave me when I was writing my first fanfiction :)**

 **And so I figured why not write another?**

 **Please R &R!**

 **CHAPTER ONE – MAGNESIUM**

The driver hummed softly along with the radio, running a weary hand over his blearly eyes; it had been a long week, a long last couple of nights.

The trucks' diesel engine growls and hisses; the yellow beams of the headlights barely able to penetrate the dark fog more than three feet ahead at a time. Gotham had been experiencing heavy fog coverage during the nights; the dense phantom clouds rising from the murky water of the bay and stealing silently through the streets, bringing with it an eerie quiet.

Like the calm before the storm.

Tom Gary yawns and switches off the radio, the female announcer's voice was making him tired. This was his last delivery of the night and then he can go back to his apartment and get some much needed sleep.

He glances over at the pistol sitting beside him on the seat; so far he hadn't needed to use it, the nights had been obnoxiously boring.

None of the other drivers had run into any trouble, no hijacks, no murders and no Batman.

What the cargo was, Tom never knew, he had been told it wasn't important for him to know. He guessed it was weapons or drugs, but which it was he didn't really care, he wasn't a curious man.

He was being paid a thousand bucks a night and that was good enough for him.

The fog is making him nervous, driving blind down on the Gotham docks is like wandering blindfolded through a lion's den.

Tom leans over the steering wheel, trying to see what's ahead of him as his eyelids grow heavier and heavier.

His apartment was sounding better by the minute…

BOOM

Tom jerks awake; he had fallen asleep behind the wheel!

"Aw shit."

He can hear an ominous spluttering sound coming from under the crushed hood, the metal had crumpled up like an accordion against the steel freight container.

"You'd better kiss that thousand bucks goodbye Tommie Boy." Tom grumbles reaching to unclip his seatbelt, at least he had had the presence of mind the fasten it. He was shaken but unharmed although he was sure he'd be sore the next day.

Then he stops, freezing with one hand on the clip; something was moving in the back of the truck, thumping against the sides with the force of a caged bull.

Tom looks franticly for his gun as the screech of shredding metal fills the air and the truck sways on its wheels; the pistol has fallen to the floor against the passenger door, far out of reach.

The fog is rolling past the windows in dark grey waves as Tom sits perfectly still behind the wheel, hardly daring to breathe as he listens to his cargo climb from the truck.

He was wishing he had joined in the family business of dry cleaning.

Nothing appears to move and he sits in utter silence for what seems an eternity before slowly reaching for the keys to restart the truck; if he could get the stupid thing running again he could back into the city where it was bright and full of people.

He would be safe.

The engine groans shrilly, hissing and whining and shattering the heavy quiet like an explosion.

Tom freezes again, waiting, his heart racing. If the cargo was hostile there was no way it couldn't have heard that and it would be coming back for him.

And yet still nothing stirs beyond the cab and Tom slowly lets out the breath he had been holding, turning to peer out of his door window.

It is there, glaring at him with solid black eyes, the massive face separated from his only by the thin sheet of glass.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**

 **This second chapter has been really late in getting written…sorry.**

 **I will be trying to finish this story from beginning to end in the month of August so all reviews and support is greatly appreciated!**

 **Chapter Two – The Torch and Knight**

Bruce Wayne looked up from the street below at the sudden flash of the yellow beacon lighting up the sky to his right.

His signal.

They were calling him.

He leaps from the rooftop, plummeting down toward the pavement below at a sickening speed before firing a grappling hook into the façade of the nearest building and soaring upwards.

Bruce no longer flinched at the sharp drops like he had when he had first donned the Batsuit. Now the wind flying past his masked face was an exhilarating rush; when he even bothered to pay attention that is.

The sensation of flight was mundane now, second nature. As if he truly has become the creature he once feared and in doing so conquered all other fears with it.

Gordon is waiting beside the floodlight, glasses reflecting the glow with refracted sharpness. The Commissioner, Bruce knew, was his closest ally in Gotham; the only man aside from Alfred he could truly count on.

"Commissioner."

"Batman."

Gordon nods grimly tugging the collar of his brown trench coat higher up around his neck against the chill fog brushing at his back.

"What is it this time?" Bruce askes, half expecting to hear The Joker had finally figured a way out of Arkham.

"Well, that's just it…I don't know."

Bruce frowns, "What do you mean?"

"Just what I said, I have no clue what _**it**_ is. There's something on the loose out there and I have absolutely no idea what it is or what it wants."

A new threat. It seems to Bruce a new villain with another diabolical plan to destroy the city emerged nearly every day. And why? Why in Gotham? What was the attraction?

"What have you got so far Jim?"

The Commissioner scratches at the back of his head and sighs, "Well a routine patrol found a wrecked delivery van down on the docks last night; one of Sionis's by the plates. Well, it was shredded, not just crashed, torn apart."

"Turf warfare?"

"Not unless street wars now include a giant thing with a bad attitude and claws." The Commissioner answers grimly.

"You think it's a monster?" Bruce asks, mentally flipping through a list of possible suspects with Killer Croc and Bane coming to mind first.

"Or a machine."

That would change the playing field.

"That's not all," The Commissioner continues, "the boys found a body on the scene; a low rung hoodlum by the name of Tom Gary. We had to ID him by his thumb prints; his head had been turned into pulp and sprayed all over the side of his demolished van."

"Has there been any news on the thing? Any whispers in the underworld?" Bruce asks looking at the gory black and white photographs of the crime scene the Commissioner hands him.

"No. But I don't have a lot of time to devote to hunting a phantom responsible for the death of a criminal nobody. You know how it is Batman. Maybe you'll have better luck digging something up."

"Maybe."

…..

"Roman."

Roman Sionis scowls at the glass of scotch in his fist, ' _Where are bodyguards when you actually need them?'_

"Batman."

He looks up at the Dark Knight standing in the shadowed corner of his luxury high-rise office, the dim overhead lights doing nothing to pierce the dark eye sockets of the eared mask. "What do you want?"

"What happened Roman?"

"What are you talkin' about?"

"What happened to that shipment down on the docks? Your truck destroyed and the driver dead with his brains painted all over the wreck."

"Shit happens."

"What was in the shipment?"

Roman snorts, "Why the hell would I tell you?"

Bruce shrugs, his leather cape rustling softly over the plating of his suit, "It seems like an extreme attack for someone to make over a truckload of cocaine or guns."

"Punks with something to prove. Look, isn't there a cat stuck in a tree somewhere for you to go save?" Roman snaps, draining his glass and slamming it down forcefully on the polished top of his massive desk and glaring at Bruce.

"I'd watch my back if I were you Roman. The punks might get some big ideas about bumping off a certain kingpin."

"SHUT UP AND GET OUT!"

Roman bellows standing sharply to his feet, elbowing his bottle of scotch over and sending the glass skittering to the floor.

He growls in frustration as the alcohol soaks the front of his suit, taking his eyes momentarily off his unwanted guest.

"Stay out of my business Batman. When I need your help I'll ask you my-"

He stops with a smirk; he is once again alone in his office.

Removing his drenched jacket Roman picks up his phone; his momentary leering grin replaced by a grim frown; _there might still be time to fix the situation before Batman and the GCPD get too involved…._


End file.
